


Crossing Ninevah

by pollybywater



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, First Times, M/M, Romance, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:40:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollybywater/pseuds/pollybywater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim stops taking second chances for granted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crossing Ninevah

## Crossing Ninevah

#### by Polly Bywater

Author's website: <http://www.geocities.com/polly_bywater/index.html>  
None of the characters are mine, although the story is.  
Formatted and uploaded by Wordwitch, who was impatient.  
In the interests of finishing WIPs, I bring to you a story that I have been dickering around with for years and that I probably should have just kept to myself but am inflicting upon you anyway.  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

Jim Ellison simply awakened, out of the void in the blink of an eye. 

It couldn't be said that he floated into consciousness. Neither did he scratch and claw his way back. It wasn't that difficult. 

Warrior's reflexes, perhaps - the same ones that kept him motionless as he tried to determine his situation; eyes shut, respirations even, as he subdued the initial clamor of his senses and started prioritizing. 

The first thing he noticed was how much he hurt. All over. His throat felt like he'd swallowed broken glass, scratchy and raw, while his chest ached and his head throbbed as if he'd been beaten. 

_Had he been?_

A burning tug on the end of his dick told him he had a catheter, damn it to hell, which meant he'd been unconscious for a while. A smaller sting on the back of his left hand advertised the presence of an IV. His skin itched in several locations, and a snarl of wires and a high-pitched whine told him he had on a heart monitor, and there was something stuck on the end of one finger that he knew from experience - on both sides, as patient and medic - was an oximeter. 

_Hospital. Shit._. 

He crankily dialed down his pain the way he'd been taught, switching his attention to what he could hear and smell, instead: beeps, hums, hisses, distant voices, the squeaks of shoes on bare floors, ammonia, urine, blood, cleansers ... cigar smoke? 

Simon was sitting beside him, reading the Bible. 

_Hell, am I_ that _bad off? Where's Blair?_

Jim could smell Blair - Blair _had_ been there but his scent was several hours old. His eyes flew open, the bright light in the room stabbing with relentless force before his vision normalized. 

"Where's Blair?" It hurt to speak. 

"Jim! Thank you, Jesus. Hang on a minute, let me get you a little ice. Your throat's gotta be sore, try not to talk. Sandburg's fine, everybody's fine." _Now_. The unspoken word added itself on in a burst of relief that Jim could hear in Simon's voice and scent rising off him. 

Jim lay still while Simon spooned a few slivers of ice into his mouth, painfully - gratefully - swallowing the melting liquid. 

"How do you feel?" 

"Sore as hell. What happened?" He whispered, managing to focus on Simon's face. The fatigue and concern etched there scared him. "Was anybody else hurt? Sandburg?" 

"Sandburg's fine, Jim, I promise, and so is everybody else. I need to let the nurses know you're awake-" 

"Wait. What _happened_? Why am I in the hospital?" 

Simon let out a huge gusty sigh and glared at him, which more than anything reassured Jim that everybody - _Blair_ \- really _was_ okay. 

"What's the last thing you remember?" 

_Huh, good question_. He thought about it for a moment and the memory drifted up to the forefront of his mind. 

"The bombing case. There was a stakeout at the industrial park over on East Eleventh. Sandburg and I were there yesterday-" Something in Simon's face alerted him, and he paused. "That wasn't yesterday." 

"That was four days ago, actually," Simon admitted and carefully fed him another bite of ice. "Go on." 

A little shaken by that information - _four days?_ \- Jim took a deep breath and tried to concentrate. "We were supposed to be keeping an eye on the back entrance of the Emerson plant while H and Rafe were covering the front..." 

Nothing else would come. He could recall watching the area, waiting to see if their suspect would make the attempt their snitch had assured them was in the works. The factory's loud roar had made the assignment almost unbearable for him, especially given the mechanical noises, and there'd been chemicals and oils in the odors that palled the air. 

Adding to the sensory nightmare had been the familiar heavy irritation of the kevlar vest he'd been wearing. At the time, he'd bitched about that, he remembered. 

Jim shook his head, instantly regretted the motion, and gave Simon his best beseeching look. "I don't remember what happened after that. Tell me." 

Simon grimaced, that 'this is against my better judgment' frown that Jim well knew. Before he could ask again, Simon started talking. His friend's dispassionate tone didn't hide the underlying fright and concern. 

"Risinger showed up just after midnight. Sandburg called it in and notified Brown and Rafe. You followed Risinger into the plant without waiting for backup and by the way, you and I are going to be discussing that at length upon your return to work, Detective. You were several feet ahead of Sandburg when he, Brown, and Rafe heard a gunshot. Sandburg found you down, with Risinger standing over you about to take a second shot. Sandburg identified himself and ordered Risinger to drop the gun. Risinger proceeded to shoot at Sandburg. He missed. Sandburg didn't. Risinger's dead." 

"Aw, Chief," Jim whispered unhappily. He'd prayed every day since Blair had become a detective that Blair would be one of the lucky ones, one in the majority of cops who never had to shoot a suspect. They'd both known, however, that Blair's position in Major Crime made that an unlikely prospect. "How's he handling it?" 

"He's been too worried about you to think about handling it," Simon replied slowly, gaze hard on Jim. "Risinger's first shot hit you in the chest right over your heart. If you hadn't been wearing the vest you'd be dead now, and it was still too close. Your doctors have some fancy explanation for it, but basically, the impact of the bullet made your heart stop. Sandburg was already doing CPR on you when Rafe and Brown got there, but your heart didn't start beating until the paramedics showed up and shocked you a couple of times." 

"Oh, crap." It didn't take a lot of imagination to understand how upset _that_ would have Blair and everybody else, including Simon, who was watching him anxiously even now. 

"I feel okay, Simon. Just sore." _And no wonder_. He'd been on the other side of enough chest compressions to know exactly how much force it took and Blair was by no means a weak guy. Not to mention the defibrillation and the shooting itself. Reaching out with a slightly shaky hand, he patted Simon's arm. "I've been unconscious for four days?" That part still stunned him, making his brush with death feel all too present. 

Simon Banks ran one hand over his head and wondered how best to answer that. He decided to avoid the question by reaching for the nurse call button, pressing it peremptorily. 

"Simon-" 

"Some details you're gonna need to hear from your doctors, Jim, and they need to be told you're awake and coherent." 

"Fine," Jim said sulkily. "Where _is_ Blair?" 

"I made him leave a little while ago. He's been here the entire time, Jim, but he has a review with IA in half an hour and he needed to go home and clean up a bit first. Joel's with him." 

"IA?" 

"Routine, Jim. It was a righteous shoot. Brown and Rafe both heard him give the warning and IA has their statements." 

"Damn it, you should be with him. Why didn't you-" 

"Don't start with me, Ellison. You aren't going anywhere, and I promised Sandburg I wouldn't leave you," Simon replied sternly, looking up as Jim's day nurse walked in. "Detective Ellison is awake." 

"Oh, that's great news! Hi there, sweetie, how ya feeling?" 

Amused, Simon backed out of the way and kept watch as Jim was put through his paces, questioned on his orientation to person, place, and time - the last of which Jim gave uncertainly, visibly doing the math as he added the days - and then made to wiggle all his fingers and toes, swallow, smile, and stick out his tongue. 

Within fairly short order the catheter was removed, the IV was capped off to a heparin lock and the cardiologist appeared, looking about as relieved to see Jim awake as Simon felt. 

Simon wasn't surprised, not after the melee in the emergency room. 

"Mister Ellison-" 

"That's _Detective_ Ellison," Simon found himself saying. 

"Of course. Pardon me while I speak to my patient alone." 

"There's not a chance in hell that any of you people are going to be left alone with my son," William Ellison pronounced from the door, saving Simon the trouble of telling the doctor the same thing. "Jimmy? Are you all right, son?" 

"Dad, hi. I'm fine, just sore," Jim said for the third time, giving his father a sharp stare. "What's going on?" 

William Ellison walked over to Jim's bedside and bent over to kiss him on the forehead, startling Jim. They'd come a long way in building a relationship in the last several years, but his father had never been demonstrative and this open show of physical affection rather threw him. 

"Dad?" 

"It's just so good to see you awake, son," William said with a fond pat to Jim's shoulder that became a convulsive squeeze for a quick moment. "Doctor MacDonald." 

"Mister Ellison, confidentiality laws require me to ask you and Captain Banks to leave the room while I discuss my patient's condition with him." 

Confused by the definite hostile undercurrents between his father, the doctor and Simon, Jim looked from one to the other until he recalled something Simon had said. "Simon, you said Sandburg wanted you to stay with me?" 

"Actually, Jim, he _ordered_ me not to leave you," Simon said with a wry grin. 

"Doctor, anything you have to say to me you can say in front of my father and my friend." 

The cardiologist, a tall skinny pale man with brown hair, rolled his gray eyes but nodded. "Very well." 

Doctor MacDonald proceeded to explain in some detail what had happened to Jim. The blunt force trauma of the bullet hitting Jim's chest at just that particular spot caused a disruption of the electrical pathways in the heart. This had induced ventricular fibrillation, an uncontrolled flutter of the lower pumping chambers that would have been fatal if untreated. CPR had maintained blood flow to Jim's brain until the paramedics had cardioverted him with the defibrillator - jumpstarting his heart back into a normal rhythm. 

That should have been all he needed to recover, except some complications had arisen when he was brought into the emergency room. 

"What kind of complications?" Jim asked suspiciously. 

"You had a drug reaction-" the cardiologist began, only to be interrupted by a less than elegant snort from William Ellison. 

"Perhaps you should explain to Jim the exact circumstances, Doctor, because I can assure you that I've already spoken to our attorney about how it happened." 

MacDonald grimaced. Jim shot a rather startled glance at Simon who nodded at him reassuringly. 

"I wasn't called in until later, but my understanding of the situation is this. When you presented to the ER your heart was beating in an irregular rhythm, that is, throwing some extra beats called PVCs, that is, premature ventricular contractions. This is not uncommon when the heart's electrical systems have been disrupted. The resident physician who was on duty in the emergency room wanted to give you a medication to normalize your heart's rhythm - also, not uncommon practice. The young man who was with you-" 

"That would be Detective Sandburg, PhD, Doctor of Anthropology, who is Detective Ellison's partner and happens to hold Detective Ellison's medical power of attorney," Simon supplied smoothly. 

The cardiologist cleared his throat while Jim felt his eyebrows go up. Simon rarely used Blair's academic title except as a joke between them, and he certainly wasn't kidding now, judging by his tone of voice. 

"Yes, well. Detective Sandburg apparently insisted that due to your history of drug allergies, no medication be given and your heart be allowed to normalize its rhythm on its own. I was called in at this point to consult and was on my way in to see you in the ER when-" 

Ed MacDonald paused, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. There really was no excuse for what had happened next, but he wasn't here to make excuses. He'd been asked to apologize on the hospital's behalf by the risk management team and his chief of staff, who'd made it pretty clear they were going to be hanging the resident out to dry in hopes of focusing the Ellisons' potential lawsuit on her instead of the entire facility and thus mitigate this disaster. 

Nobody could deny the facts. There'd been too many witnesses. 

"The sequence of events as I've been told..." he began reluctantly. "The resident administered a dose of amiodarone to stabilize your heart's rhythm. This was the medication Detective Sandburg had previously refused on your behalf. You had an unusually severe adverse reaction that necessitated a second round of CPR and cardioversion. You should be aware of this drug intolerance and take measures to include this information in your medical history when you seek medical care in the future." 

Jim didn't need sentinel senses to feel the wrath that was virtually radiating out of his father and Simon. Truthfully, he was more than a little angry himself, imagining how Blair must have felt. 

"As an expression of our regret over this situation, Cascade General is pursuing disciplinary action against the doctor. We are also prepared to absorb the costs of your current hospital stay and-" McDonald forged on. 

"Our attorney will discuss those details with you," William interjected firmly. "Is there anything else Jimmy needs to know relevant to his recovery?" 

_Holy fuck,_ Jim thought at his dad's severe tone. 

"Tests have shown no damage to your heart muscle and your latest EKG indicates your heart has resumed a regular rate and rhythm. We'll plan on doing one additional EKG in the morning, as well as some labwork, and provided it looks okay, you may go home afterwards, Detective Ellison. What happened to you is a fairly rare occurrence and there is no reason to anticipate it will ever happen again. You should avoid vigorous activity for seven to ten days and you will need to see your regular doctor for clearance to return to work after that time." 

"Fine. Does that mean I can get rid of this, now?" Jim held up the little plastic box that transmitted his heart's rhythm to the nurses' desk. "The electrodes itch." 

As soon as the doctor nodded, Jim started peeling off the sticky plastic pads, revealing skin that was irritated and red. 

"You do seem to have a number of medical sensitivities. You should pursue allergy testing at some point, Detective. It might save your life," Doctor MacDonald commented. 

Jim stuffed the monitor box and wires into the man's hands and gave him a level stare. 

"I have Sandburg for that." 

* * *

Once the doctor was gone, Jim looked at his two visitors, both of whom were carefully avoiding each other's eyes. 

"You'd better tell me the rest." Somehow, he knew there was more. 

"Jimmy, I-" 

"No, William, I'll do it." Simon pulled up a chair to put his eyes more on a level with Jim's, waving the senior Ellison into a seat by Jim's other side. The older man sank into it with a tired grunt that Jim almost missed, so taken aback was he by Simon's use of his dad's first name. 

"I got here just after you were brought into the emergency room. Sandburg and that resident, Doctor Petrie, were arguing about giving you that medicine. Blair kept insisting that your heart would settle down on its own and it wasn't worth the risk of giving you something you might react badly to, especially since the extra beats were already decreasing. She asked him if he had a fraudulent medical license to go with his fraudulent dissertation-" 

"She _what?_ That goddamned bitch," Jim muttered, startled all over again when his dad took his hand and squeezed it. 

"Yeah," Simon continued heavily. "She started making noises about having Sandburg barred from the premises and calling the hospital's attorney to pursue a restraining order. I told Sandburg to go call your dad in case they tried to say Sandburg couldn't make decisions since he isn't your next of kin." 

Simon sighed, feeling as if what happened next had been his fault, even though he knew better. 

"He went outside to use his cell, which is when that doctor dosed you up with that crap. I was in the waiting room with Brown and Rafe and heard them call the code on you. We rushed into your room. Sandburg beat us in there..." 

_And good Christ, what a scene! The resident, pale and terrified, barking out orders right and left, frantically trying to get Jim's heart started._

*Sandburg shouting - *"What did you do?" WHAT DID YOU DO?" _and already knowing. "You gave it to him. Why? I told you not to!"_

_A pair of the hospital's rent-a-cops had been milling about wanting to evict Sandburg but not willing to go up against the Major Crime contingent. Half a dozen other people were dashing around, doing chest compressions, drawing blood, intubating, bagging, then shocking Jim._

_Simon would never forget that, watching Jim's body convulse under the paddles-_

_The cardiologist, McDonald, had appeared in time to take over the code, coolly issuing instructions._

_More luck than skill that Jim's heart started beating, but thank God, thank God for whatever it was._

*And that was when things _really_ got pretty. The argument had moved out into the hall while Jim was being put on the ventilator by a respiratory therapist, and _everybody_ in the emergency room heard enough to know that the resident had medicated Jim over Sandburg's specific objection.* 

_That Jim had almost died. Again._

_If he and Brown hadn't been holding onto Sandburg by then, Simon suspected Doctor Petrie would have been occupying a patient bed in the room next to Jim's - if not a slab in the morgue. Sandburg had been frightening, furious, totally out of control; threatening the resident in a hard icy voice that Simon had never expected to hear out of his youngest detective. If Jim didn't make it, Sandburg swore, he'd curse her and her generations._

*Simon had had a weird flash of Blair-the-Witch-Doctor 'pointing the bone' and pronouncing sentence. He'd exchanged a wide-eyed stare with Brown over Sandburg's head that said _they_ believed he could do it and the resident had burst out weeping.* 

_This, thankfully, was the point at which William Ellison had arrived. Simon still didn't want to think about how far over the speed limits the older man must have gone to get there so fast._

_As soon as he'd determined that Jim was still alive, William had taken Sandburg into his arms, ordered the staff to 'do something with that silly woman' and ushered Sandburg back to Jim's bedside, so Blair could see that Jim survived. Again._

"They worked on you for a while and got you back, then your dad showed up and made sure nobody gave Sandburg any shit about staying with you when they moved you to ICU." 

William Ellison had told a hall full of administrators that he'd see this place bankrupted by the biggest lawsuit they'd ever seen if they got in Blair's way again and they'd better remember who the Ellisons were in this community. 

It had been a beautiful moment. 

"Thanks, Dad," Jim said, meaning it, but pretty sure all the same that there was still more to this story than he was being told. 

"Anything for you, Jimmy. I promised myself I was going to do a better job as your father, and making sure Blair could look after you is a part of that." William tried on a reassuring smile. "He'll be so relieved to see you awake." 

"Yeah," Jim agreed absently, his brow furrowed. "He must have been going nuts." 

"Going?" Simon teased with a casual pat to Jim's leg. "Short trip, if you-" His cell phone's ringtones cut off the rest of his words, and he gave both Ellisons a sheepish grin as he answered. "Forgot to turn it off. Banks." 

"Simon, it's Joel. The IA hearing is over and Blair's been cleared for duty. Turner got a little ugly but nothing we didn't expect. We're about to head back your way." 

"That's great, Joel. I've got better news. Jim's awake and he's okay." 

"Oh, thank God." The relief in Joel's voice warmed Jim's soul. 

"Where's Blair?" He asked as loudly as his throat would permit, knowing Blair must be out of earshot or Joel wouldn't still be holding the phone. 

Joel heard, answering in a normal tone, as if Jim were on the other end instead of Simon. This wasn't a surprise to Jim - most of Major Crime's detectives knew now what sentinel hearing could do. 

"He's in the men's room, puking. I think it just hit him that he actually killed a man, plus, the press waylaid him in the lobby before the hearing so he's pretty freaked out." 

"Thanks, Joel. We'll see you soon," Simon said before Jim could erupt, sliding the phone back in his pocket with finality. "He'll be better after he sees you. There's no sense in getting into it with Joel and delaying that. I'm going to go have a smoke and meet them downstairs since your dad's here to keep an eye on the staff." 

Simon got up and shambled out wearily, his usual good posture bent with fatigue. Jim suspected he left as much to prevent an argument as anything, although he knew Simon was right. Joel would take care of Blair, as much as Blair would allow, at least, and the sooner Jim saw his guide the better off they'd _both_ be. 

"What's the press been saying?" He asked after a minute. William sniffed derisively. 

"The usual shit," he said, astonishing Jim, who couldn't recall having ever heard his father curse. "'<b>Confessed Fraud Turned Detective Slays Suspect</b>' was the headline in the Times day before yesterday." 

"Oh, Jesus," Jim breathed, rubbing his face with his free hand. "No wonder he's puking." 

"I don't know what he could have to sick up. I don't think he's eaten much since you were shot," William said quietly. "Listen, son, reporters are going to be six-deep outside the loft. I want you and Blair to consider staying at the house for a while, maybe a week or two, until some of this blows over and you're fully recovered. Sally would love to spoil you both. What do you say?" 

Jim managed - barely - not to ask why his father was being so nice. True, they'd grown closer over the last two years, chiefly due to Blair's tireless efforts to convince Jim he should give William a chance; but Jim had never dreamed his father could be so supportive of Blair. 

He was grateful to hear it, though, recognizing his dad's sincerity. 

"Thanks. I think we'll take you up on that, Dad, but I'll need to discuss it with Blair first." 

"I know. But keep in mind, he could use some spoiling." William saw the expression on his son's face and gave him a rueful grin. "Jimmy, Blair and I - and Simon and I - have spent a lot of time together during the last few days. Do you realize Blair's hardly left your side? The best Simon and I could do was convince him to nap a little or get something to drink while one of us was here to make sure no more of the staff endangered you. He wouldn't have left you today if it hadn't been for the Internal Affairs hearing... and Simon resorted to emotional blackmail to get him to go." 

"What do you mean?" 

"Simon told him that if he fucked up another career for you, when you woke up and found out you'd never forgive him." 

"Man, that was harsh," Jim muttered, feeling the sting of the words even second-hand. 

William laughed. "You know, that's exactly what Blair said." 

* * *

Blair rinsed out his mouth, washed his face, and tried to avoid looking at himself in the mirror. He knew he looked like shit, all pasty skin and baggy, dark-circled eyes. Joel had dragged him to the loft for a shower, shave, and change of clothes before his mandatory review. He'd looked even worse earlier, with four days worth of beard and his hair standing up in ninety directions. 

The thing was, he didn't care. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, except Jim, and if Jim didn't wake up... 

His stomach flipped and rolled again, making him shudder. Taking a few deep, cleansing breaths, he pushed down the terror and grief, mentally balling it up with the vengeful fury he was still trying to process and locking it all away. 

"I am calm. I am calm," he murmured until he almost believed it, then dried his face and hands and started out, nearly getting hit in the face with the washroom door when Joel came in first. 

"Blair, I talked to Simon-" 

"Oh, no." Blair reeled, the roaring in his ears blocking out everything else Joel was saying. _So, this is the way the world ends. I knew- I_ knew _it was a mistake to leave, that something would happen and Jim would- Jim would_ \- "No, no, no." 

"Blair, son, it's good news! Jim's awake, Blair!" Joel grabbed Blair's shoulders and gave him a hard shake, holding on tightly until those blank blue eyes slowly fixed on his face and started to focus. "Jim's awake. Simon says Jim is awake and he's okay. Do you hear me? _Good_ news." 

"Good news," Blair whispered, trying the words out in his mouth so maybe they'd trickle through to his brain via his ears. "Jim's awake." 

A single wracking sob escaped before Blair could control himself. Joel watched anxiously while he stuffed his emotions back down, a leaden lump on his uncertain stomach. 

"Good news. Thanks, Joel. Guess we'd better get back." 

"Yeah, Blair," Joel said, releasing him reluctantly. "Let's go." 

_I'm not going to believe it until I see Jim._

_I need to see Jim._

_I need Jim_. 

Ashamed of his selfishness, Blair tried not to be hurt by the fact that Jim had awakened when he wasn't there. 

* * *

William realized he'd lost his audience about halfway through telling Jimmy about meeting Stephen's latest girlfriend. Jim had tilted his head a bit, a small smile on his face telling William all he needed to know. 

"Blair's here?" 

"Huh? Yeah. Dad, sorry. You were saying?" 

"Never mind, son. How do you know? Do you hear him talking?" 

Jimmy looked at him a little cockeyed and William tried his best to look receptive. He was genuinely curious. He'd always wondered about the full extent of Jim's senses and that odd connection between Jim and Blair Sandburg. For a long time, he'd thought the former grad student was just using Jimmy, but when Blair had thrown away reputation and career for Jim's sake, William thought he had it figured out. 

Blair Sandburg was in love with his son. Nothing William had seen in the last four days had changed his mind about that. Blair had changed his life for Jimmy. He'd killed for Jim, would die for him - and would die _without_ him. It was quite obvious to William that Jim was the center of Blair's world. 

William could envy that. He certainly wasn't going to quibble about gender in the face of it - his son was a lucky man to be loved the way Blair Sandburg loved him, whether they were lovers or not. William thought perhaps not yet, but he wouldn't be surprised to be wrong. 

"Jimmy? How can you tell? 

"I- I can hear his heart beating. I just- I know when he's near," Jim confided hesitantly. 

"That's amazing," William said sincerely, aware of a little pang when Jim looked so startled by the compliment. "I wish I'd told you that when you were younger. I wish I'd seen your senses as the gift you told me they were. I'm sorry, Jimmy." 

Jim stared at his dad, momentarily dumbfounded. 

_He's getting old. He's not going to be around forever. Time to let the past be the past_. 

Funny how often his mental voice sounded like Sandburg, Jim thought with an inward snort. 

"I hear that, Dad," he said, and held out his hand for his father to take. "You know what? I didn't think they were much of a gift either until Blair taught me they were... so it's okay. We're okay." 

"Thank you, son. I need to tell you one more thing, because if this incident has taught me anything it's taught me not to take the future for granted. I love you, Jimmy. _No matter what_." 

"I love you, too, Dad," Jim whispered, a tremulous smile - too tremulous to suit his self image - creeping onto his face. Those words from his dad shocked him a little with how good they felt to hear. 

The door opened and there was Blair, pushing every other concern out of Jim's head. 

_Shit, he hasn't looked that bad since he drowned. What's he been doing, starving himself?_

"Chief." 

Jim watched those weary eyes close, as if the sound of his voice was a blessing too great to bear. When they opened, there was a light in them like a second chance, like a last minute call from the governor. 

When Jim remembered that moment after their spirit merge at the fountain, when he knew Blair was alive, he understood exactly how much truth was in that feeling of reprieve. 

"Hey, man. How do you feel?" Blair asked raspy-voiced. 

"Hi, Blair. I'm going to go get a cup of coffee, boys. Jimmy, I'll be back in a bit." Hiding a grin, William Ellison stood up and left Jimmy's room, pretty sure neither his son nor Blair had heard a word he said... and caught himself humming once he closed the door behind him. 

_I onleeeee have eyes for youuuuuuuuuu_. 

Waiting in the corridor, Simon Banks and Joel Taggart heard, and greeted William with broad grins of their own. 

* * *

"Blair." Jim held out one hand, trying to budge Blair out of whatever weird stasis he'd fallen into. "Come here, babe." 

Blair gave him a startled look but moved forward jerkily, taking Jim's hand and perching on the edge of the bed. He lifted Jim's hand to his face and simply held it there, strong fingers clinging tight as he sighed; a gesture Jim knew was fueled less by Blair's natural sensuality than Blair's need to feel him warm and alive. 

The strain of the last few days was written all over Blair, and Jim needed Blair closer to ease it. 

"Take off your jacket and tie," he ordered quietly, disturbed when Blair complied mechanically. 

Once the more restrictive clothing was removed, Jim pulled Blair down to rest against his tender chest; cradling his guide with the need to re-imprint them both. Again, Blair made no protest, carefully arranging their positions - avoiding too much pressure on Jim's sore body but still getting as close as possible, until they lay on the bed in each other's arms and could finally begin to relax. 

Jim held his world and knew it; knew to his _soul_ Blair felt the same way. 

"I'm sorry I scared you." 

"You didn't mean to. I just- God, Jim, I thought- I wasn't sure you- The doctors said you might not wake up- You know I can't- couldn't live-" 

"I know, Chief. I know." 

Jim dropped a kiss on the top of Blair's head, then tipped his chin up, so they could see each other. This was about to be the most important conversation of their lives, and Jim didn't want any misunderstanding. 

"No more waiting, Blair. We've waited long enough, first, because you wouldn't sleep with a research subject, then because I wouldn't sleep with my partner. We've let a thousand other roadblocks come between us, even though we _both_ know we're meant to be together. We aren't doing that any more. You have to know I love you." 

They'd hinted and skirted and avoided and repressed and pretended for years, both of them. This was the first time either had come out and said it, and Jim watched it sink into Blair and then dawn in those night sky eyes, brilliant and pure as a full moon rise. 

"I've ... hoped. I love you, too, you know that. But Jim, don't let a near-death experience change something you believe as a matter of principle-" 

"When exactly would there be a better time? Besides, it was never a matter of principle. It was fear. Fear that I'd fuck it up, that Simon would have to separate us if he found out. Fear of feeling so much for you, being so vulnerable. Fear that you'd leave me. I think I had myself convinced that if we didn't take it all the way, I'd never lose you, and maybe it wouldn't hurt as bad even if I did." 

"Well, that's just stupid," Blair said bluntly, waving one hand around in a gesture that encompassed Jim's hospital room. "It hurts anyway." 

"I know," Jim acknowledged, touched by the marks grief had left on Blair's face. "No more, Blair. We've both been afraid long enough. You're the most important person in my life, and I'm not going to cheat either of us out of any more time together." 

Jim shifted just enough to bring their lips together, lapping his tongue over Blair's sweet mouth, letting the kiss deepen slowly, until Blair moaned and surrendered, teeth parting to let him in. 

Gently sucking a limber tongue, Jim answered that moan, burying a hand in Blair's hair and holding him even closer. Blair responded enthusiastically, hand curled protectively around the nape of Jim's neck, and for a few precious moments, they were both able to forget where they were and the circumstances that had finally brought them to this point. 

When Jim eventually lifted his head, the look on his guide's face made his spirit sing. Blair was a vision; eyes heavy with shell-shocked arousal, skin pink with a healthy flush that replaced that earlier, frightening pallor, and those lips, swollen beyond their already ripe fullness. 

"Chief, tell me you still want to take that trip with me." 

Blair gazed into Jim's pale eyes. It took everything he had not to flinch away from their intensity. He'd given up hope of ever hearing those words from Jim. He'd settled for friendship, settled for being Jim's guide and partner. In truth, he'd so completely buried his own feelings that he'd almost forgotten their true depth, only to be drowned by them when Jim had come so near dying. 

There was only one conceivable answer Blair could give, despite his terror. 

"Yes. Yes, I want that trip with you." 

Jim smiled at him then, that daybreak smile that made Jim the sun in Blair's sky. He smiled back helplessly and wondered if either one of them had a fucking clue how to be happy. 

"Thank you. Do me a favor?" Jim asked quietly, too aware of the shadows in and under Blair's eyes. 

"Anything, man, you know that." 

"Go to sleep." 

"What?" 

"Please, Blair. You're exhausted and half sick. Sleep beside me." 

"But, your dad- Simon- the staff-" 

"Don't worry about them. Let me take the watch now, partner." 

A long-fingered hand pressed lightly on Blair's head, urging him to settle in and get comfortable. With a heavy sigh, Blair obeyed, plastering himself to Jim's side. He made sure both of Jim's hands were free, which left him with his face pressed against Jim's upper arm. 

Fatigue was like a tide, sweeping him under. "Jim, don't- don't let them-" 

"I won't let anybody hurt me, baby. I'll keep us both safe. Trust me?" 

"Always." It was the last thing Blair said before he allowed that tide to wash him away. 

* * *

Blair dropped into an REM state far too quickly; something Jim knew was indicative of sleep deprivation. Figuring the only thing he could do was try to influence Blair's dreams towards pleasant subjects, Jim simply stroked his guide and murmured reassurances, relieved when Blair's sleep patterns eventually shifted into a deeper stage. 

A light knock on the door heralded his dad's return, and Jim braced himself internally for the negative reaction he anticipated. His dad startled him yet again by simply grabbing up an extra blanket and carefully settling it over Blair, who did indeed feel chilled to Jim. 

"I'm glad to see he's finally getting some rest," William whispered. "I think it would have killed him if you hadn't woken up, Jimmy." 

Jim knew that now. He was surprised to hear his father did. 

"Blair said there was some doubt that I _would_." 

"Doctor MacDonald was rather pessimistic after your drug reaction. He believed you were brain damaged due to your heart stopping twice. He had you moved out of ICU yesterday after you were taken off the ventilator and told us to start considering long-term placement. 

"Blair didn't take that too well. He thought maybe you were just- in a sort of zone, while your heart stabilized, but none of us knew for sure." 

"I'm sorry. I know how frightening that is," Jim said, flashing on a memory of holding Blair's unconscious body in the station's basement garage, after the Golden-laced pizza. 

"It's not your fault, Jimmy," William replied prosaically, relocating Blair's abandoned suitcoat and tie before settling into the bedside chair. He then gave Jim a level stare. "Now, I want you to sleep, too. I'll make sure you and Blair aren't disturbed," he added with grim determination. 

"Gee, Dad, shouldn't you be armed?" 

"Got 'em on the ends of my fists. Besides, Simon and Joel are carrying." 

Father and son laughed - very quietly. 

* * *

For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, Blair slept the sleep of the utterly exhausted, barely moving. Jim rested as ordered under his dad's watchful eye. He awakened off and on for something to drink, for the nurses' routine checks, and once to use the urinal - an accomplishment that won Jim potty training stories from William that he was glad Blair missed. 

Joel and Simon were in and out as the day progressed and their duties at work allowed. Stephen came by around five and spelled William for a break ... Jim's brother shocking him by kissing his cheek and whispering relieved pleasure at his recovery. 

Jim made a cursory attempt to convince his father and brother that he didn't need constant supervision and was pointedly ignored, to his irritated amusement. 

A surprise visit was made by a cheerful man with an odd accent who introduced himself as Doctor Jorgensen, Jim's neurologist. Jim hadn't realized he had one. His dad obviously knew the guy, who was rotund and white haired and no taller than Blair. William Ellison was much more welcoming towards this doctor than the last. 

Jim wondered privately if that was because this doctor was older than his dad, and told himself to ask Blair later just to see Blair smile. There had to be some anthropological explanation for it. 

Relaxing, Jim greeted the doctor with a handshake. 

Jorgensen spared a gentle pat on the shoulder for a sleeping Blair that endeared him to Jim forever, then ran Jim through the usual basic exam before he explained that he didn't feel there would be any long-term deficits, given Jim's current level of recovery. If Jim noticed any problems, he was to call his office and schedule an appointment, but basically, he agreed with Jim's discharge in the morning, and wasn't Jim a fortunate man to be surrounded by all this devotion? 

Jim could only agree. 

Stephen, Simon, and Joel left around six-thirty, and at eight, Rafe, Brown, and Megan showed up with Wonderburgers for everyone. Jim's throat was still too sore for solid food, but his hospital-wise friends had anticipated that, bringing along a cold milkshake that felt great going down. 

Nobody seemed to think it in any way remarkable that Blair was asleep in Jim's bed, which gave Jim a whole new appreciation for his friends and family. 

Megan pronounced her intention of staying through the night so William could go home and get some sleep. Much to Jim's astonishment, William meekly agreed and wished him - and Blair, who slept through it all - a good night, adding that he'd be back in the morning to give them a ride home. Once he'd left, Megan carefully took the heparin lock needle out of Jim's hand, assuring Jim that she did in fact know how to do it properly and there'd be less of a chance of somebody slipping up and giving him something he shouldn't have with it gone. 

"Part of me thinks you're all being unbelievably paranoid, and part of me thinks if the situation were reversed, I'd feel the same way," Jim commented quietly when she was done. 

"We aren't being paranoid, Jimbo. Soon after you told everybody-" everybody being the core of Major Crime; Taggart, Rafe, Brown, Rhonda, plus Simon and Megan, who already knew the truth, "-that Sandy lied at his press conference, Sandy took us all aside and held his own meeting. He explained a bit about the sentinel thing, what you might be most vulnerable to, how to get you out of one of those zones if necessary, what to do if you had a sensory spike or a bad reaction to a chemical. Before you start squawking about breach of trust, he only did it so we'd know what to do in case something ever happened to him. We promised him then that we'd help him protect you." 

"I wasn't going to squawk, Conner. I trust Blair." Jim had rarely meant any words more, wanting Blair to hear them, having caught the changes in Blair's vital signs that signified he was waking. 

"It's about bloody time, mate. We promised each other we'd protect him, too, you know." 

"Thanks, Conner, I appreciate that," Jim said sincerely, amused when he felt Blair smile against his arm. Almost ten hours of sound sleep had obviously done his partner a world of good - Blair was relaxed and calm, seemingly content to laze on the fringes of awareness for the time being, although Jim knew he had to be hungry and thirsty. _Not to mention, his bladder has to be screaming_. "Hey, buddy, maybe you should wave at the pretty lady, huh?" 

Jim felt Blair smile again, one hand lifting a few inches to waggle fingers in Megan's direction with a hoarse mumble. "Hi, pretty lady." 

"Sandy." The nickname was said on a sigh of relief. "You all right?" 

"I'm jake, mate," Blair teased as he began the laborious process of changing the position he'd been in so long, joints popping loudly enough to make both Jim and Megan wince. Blair finally attained a sitting position and had a good stretch. 

Jim reached up to trace the sleep-creases lining Blair's face, and Blair gave them both a tolerant grin as he scrubbed at the red marks. 

"Yeah, well, Sleeping Beauty I'm not." 

"I don't know about that, Chief. I think you're beautiful." 

Blair blushed while Megan chortled triumphantly. 

"Does this mean you've finally sussed it out?" 

"We've always known, Megs," Blair corrected absently, frowning as he shook out the pins and needles currently seizing his limbs. "We just never admitted it. Now we have." He glanced up at Jim, who graced him with a soft smile. "What time is it?" 

"Close to midnight." 

"Whoa. How you feel?" 

"Not bad, considering." Jim didn't need to see Blair's eyes rolling to know that answer wasn't going to be good enough. "My head aches, but not as much as it did when I first woke up. My throat is sore. Scratchy. But also better. My chest hurts when I cough or breathe deeply. My heart rate's been regular, my vital signs are fine, my senses are stable and two- count 'em -two doctors have said I can go home in the morning. 

"You, on the other hand, are dehydrated, hungry, and almost sick. You need food on your stomach and some more sleep." 

"I hope the next words out of your mouth aren't going to be 'why don't you go back to the loft tonight, Chief' because that is _so_ not happening." 

Jim put his hands in the air, trying to stifle a laugh. "No way would I try to tell you to go _home_." 

"He _can_ be taught," Blair said with a faint smile. 

"Uh, mates? How about I go down to the snack bar and bring Sandy a bit of tucker, eh?" Megan volunteered with a grin of her own, pretty sure they'd forgotten she was even there. Sure enough, two startled wide-eyed gazes turned her way. 

"Thanks, Megan, but I'd really like to stretch my legs a little," Blair said a bit roughly, giving an apologetic shrug as he stood. "You want me to bring you something? Jim? Some tea, maybe, or a cold drink?" 

"A cold drink sounds good. The gang brought Wonderburgers by and I couldn't eat," Jim announced mournfully, pleased when Blair snickered a little. 

"Aw, man, that's sad." Blair toed into his shoes - Joel had pulled them off much earlier - shouldered into his suitcoat, and gave himself an abstracted pat to make sure he had his billfold. "Megan?" 

"Nothing for me, Sandy, thanks." 

"Back in a bit, then," he said with a quick grin at Jim. "Be good." 

As soon as Blair had slipped out the door, Megan's worried eyes met Jim's. "He's not all right, is he." 

"He will be," Jim promised, hoping he could make the words come true. 

* * *

After a much-needed bathroom break, Blair took the stairs down to the ground floor, trying not to get creeped out by the cavernous echo of his own footsteps in the stairwell. The hospital at night was a different place; so few people around, the corridor lights dimmed in several areas, no terse announcements crackling from the overhead speakers. Unfortunately, it was a place he knew too well, his feet carrying him unerringly towards his destination. 

The chapel. Blandly non-denominational in decor, it still managed to convey the sense of quiet reverence and peace that Blair needed to feel for at least a few minutes. He took a seat near the back of the room, closed his eyes, and spent some time sending up thanks to every deity he could think of for letting Jim wake up with mind and body intact. 

When he was done, he let out a huge sigh and opened his eyes, not surprised to find Sister Therese sitting beside him. 

Cascade General, like most big-city hospitals, had a pastoral care department that supplied a number of 'on-call' staff from several different faiths. Blair had found a friend in the slender little gray-haired nun when they'd first met earlier in the week. Therese's calm serenity had soothed Blair when nothing else - no one else - could. She'd visited with him often, stopping by Jim's room to check on the two of them, liaising between Blair and the staff; many of whom were walking on eggshells where Blair was concerned. 

The grapevine had swiftly carried the rumors of potential lawsuit as well as the circumstances of Jim's condition, inducing a variety of reactions from Cas Gen's employees. Those who were confident in their own job performances carried out their work without pause, manners both competent and courteous, but a significant number of the staff treated Blair like a pariah, saying as little as possible to him and scurrying about their duties like guilty mice, afraid of being singled out. 

Part of Blair, an angry, vengeful, bitter part, viewed that with _Good! They_ should _be afraid!'_. Ultimately, however, that attitude was making him feel even worse. He'd been too worried about Jim to deal with everything he'd said and done before now, but it was all starting to sink in. 

He'd killed a man. He'd threatened a woman and threatened to curse her entire family's future in the fearfully certain knowledge that _he could actually do that._ He'd gone out of his way to scare the crap out of several people - shit, he'd gone out of his _mind_ there for a while. 

The clincher was, he wasn't sorry about _any_ of it and _that_ scared him. 

As a man who generally lived 'give peace a chance', Blair was floundering. 

Sister Therese had helped, though, reassuring him that what he was feeling was normal under the circumstances. Blair _knew_ that, but hearing it had given him some emotional validation. 

"Hi, Blair. I hear Detective Ellison is awake and doing well?" 

"Yes, Sister." 

They exchanged a smile, and Sister Therese took his hand, giving it a squeeze. 

"That's wonderful news. I'm so happy for you." 

"Thank you, Sister. I want you to know, I really appreciate everything you've done," Blair said sincerely, careful not to put too much pressure on her thin, arthritic fingers. 

"You're very welcome, Blair. Now that your friend is recovering, I hope you'll discuss your issues with him." 

"If you mean the lawsuit, Jim's dad-" 

"No, no, child. That's not my concern. I'm talking about how you feel about the shooting. You've been very angry. You were forced to take a life to save yourself and your partner. You've avoided- what's that word you like-? Processing? You need to process, Blair. Your fear, your regret-" 

He looked at her gentle face and shook his head, knowing what he was about to say would hurt her but unwilling to lie. 

"That's the problem, Sister. I don't feel any regret. In fact, I wish I could bring Risinger back to life so I could kill him again. Slower." Blair took a deep breath, stared into the nun's kind brown eyes. "I really don't want to talk about that. 

"Therese, you majored in psych, didn't you?" 

She grinned at him, the creases in her lined face proof that it was an expression she wore often. 

"I did!" 

"I was a bastard to Petrie." 

"Hmm. How is it said? 'The cause was sufficient'." 

Blair had to grin back at her, deeply amused to hear the nun quoting Surak of Vulcan. 

"Be gentle with yourself right now, Blair. Don't blame yourself for your darker feelings or pretend you feel only what you think you _should_ feel. Take some time to let your fears and your anger settle. And talk to your friend." She patted his hand. "Why don't you come with me and we'll get you something to eat? The sandwich line in the cafeteria is open until two." 

"I can't tell you how many people want to feed me lately," he said weakly, feeling unaccountably better. 

"That many people can't be wrong. Let's go." 

Blair let Sister Therese herd him out of the chapel, faintly amused by the little woman's steamroller determination. 

He just wished it was as easy to do what she'd said. 

* * *

"What took you so long?" 

"Ran into a friend-" 

"Let me guess. A _female_ friend." Jim was smiling, but there was an accusation in his voice that lifted the hair on the back of Blair's neck. Sighing almost silently, Blair handed over the fruit smoothie he'd picked up for Jim in the cafeteria; specially made by the staff for Jim at Sister Therese's request. 

Megan caught Blair's gaze and rolled her eyes as she stood in an obvious attempt to divert both men. 

"My turn to stretch my legs, mates." 

"Megs, go on home. We'll be all right." 

_Besides, I don't want any witnesses when I put my foot up my sentinel's ass_. 

Megan inspected Blair closely then nodded, giving Blair the impression that she'd heard every word he didn't say and empathized fully. 

"Ring if you need me, Sandy. G'night, Jimbo." 

"Night, Conner." Jim sipped at the smoothie, which was really very good. "Well?" 

"Well what, Jim?" Blair asked wearily, throwing himself onto the bedside chair as soon as the door closed behind Megan. "It's not like I was out fucking around in a linen closet somewhere - you could smell that - so why don't you just chill?" 

Jim flinched, only now beginning to recognize precisely how upset Blair was. He'd let that surface calm fool him - _him_ \- who knew better than anybody that Blair Sandburg had depths like the Marianas Trench. 

"Chief, I-" 

"Makes me wonder, Jim, how you can say you love me when you think I'm such a slut. Of course, maybe that _is_ the reason." 

"Stop it, Blair!" Sore throat or not, Jim barely kept himself from shouting. 

"I'm sorry. Shit." Blair sighed again, gustily, sounding like the weight of the world was mashing out all his air. "I'm just being an asshole. I'm not mad at you. Well, not much, anyway. I- it's just that I'm kinda stressed right now. I'll get over it." 

"Did you eat?" Jim interrupted, setting aside the emotional crap in favor of physical concerns. 

"Are you kidding? Sister Therese made sure I- Never mind. Yeah, I ate. You should get some sleep." 

"Sister Therese, huh." Jim closed his eyes. "I'm the asshole." 

"Forget it, man. Hey, have you peed since the catheter came out?" Blair asked, eyebrows wiggling. 

_"What?"_

"Just checking to see if the plumbing works." 

Jim gave his guide his best exasperated glare, relieved when Blair laughed at him. 

"The plumbing works just fine. I'll prove it when we get home." 

"That'd be nice, Jim." 

"I think it'll be better than just _nice_ , Chief," Jim protested with an exaggerated leer. Blair blushed so faintly that nobody but Jim would have noticed, and Jim was thankfully aware he was making up the ground he'd lost by his little display of jealousy. 

"Drink your smoothie," Blair ordered, pulling the bedside chair closer to Jim's side and twining their fingers together. 

Blair tried to enjoy having the freedom to simply reach out and hold Jim's hand. Tried not to let the voice of his doubts drown out the pleasure he felt in being able to touch a conscious Jim. 

As much as he loved the idea of them finally becoming everything to each other that he'd always known they could be, there was a part of Blair that didn't think it would happen. Jim would change his mind. 

It wouldn't last even if it started. 

* * *

Jim had been in the hospital often enough to know he wouldn't be able to flee the premises with first light - morning could, and did, mean any time up until 12 noon. 

Naturally, he'd been awakened at dawn by a technician who hooked him up for an EKG. 

Despite the fact that the tech wouldn't share the results, Jim wasn't concerned. His heart was smoothly in synch with Blair's, and both were beating steadily in a strong, even rhythm. Jim was willing to bet his heart had automatically done that days ago; would have done shortly after his initial injury if the hospital staff had just left them the fuck alone. 

He kept that observation to himself and merely returned Blair's tired grin when the tech trundled off with the machine, task complete. 

Being able to get out of bed and walk to the bathroom was wonderfully mundane. He was a little dizzy after four days in bed, but under Blair's watchful supervision, Jim was able to treat himself to a hot shower and a shave. A friendly nurse's aide provided a set of battered soft cotton scrubs, delighting Jim, who was happy to forego the usual open-backed gowns. 

"Whaddaya think?" He asked Blair as he mugged a fashion model's turn, even happier to hear Blair chuckle. "I can't wait to get out of here." 

" _You_ can't wait! Man, you have no idea." 

"I think I do," Jim corrected before he was interrupted by yet another staff member. A phlebotomist arrived to draw blood, informing Jim that the doctor wanted one last set of cardiac enzymes, the levels of which were monitored to check for damage to Jim's heart muscle. 

"Hey, you slept through most of it," Blair pointed out. 

Jim rolled his eyes and acceded. 

Breakfast - or, the meal masquerading as such - was delivered; some compassionate soul providing an extra tray for Blair, too. Jim noted grimly that Blair only picked at the food, and promised himself that as soon as they got out of here he'd make sure Blair ate something. Jim's throat was less sore and he was hungry enough to find the faux scrambled eggs and cold toast tolerable. 

Doctor MacDonald arrived shortly after he'd finished eating, telling Jim what he already knew - the EKG and lab results were within normal limits. The cardiologist handed over a prescription for a mild painkiller and reiterated yesterday's instructions. 

After informing Jim that his neurologist would also be making rounds soon and then he could go, MacDonald left without addressing a single word to Blair; who'd stepped aside, back against the wall, arms crossed. 

Jim had never seen an expression on Blair's face quite like the one he wore during the cardiologist's visit; cold, threatening, and totally closed off. As soon as the man was gone, Jim started asking questions. 

"Chief, what's with you and MacDonald?" 

"Nothing," Blair shot back, not ready to explain his problem with the cardiologist. He couldn't forgive MacDonald's earlier pronouncement that Jim was likely in a chronic vegetative state due to oxygen deprivation and should be placed in long-term care. 

Horrified, Blair had accused the cardiologist of giving up, and the resultant argument had been bitter, indeed, particularly given MacDonald's condescending comments on Blair's lack of medical training, choices made out of ignorance, and the futility of hope in these types of situations. 

Blair had wondered - perhaps a bit too loudly - if that meant the doctors at Cascade General tried to off their patients so frequently that they already had methodology in place for warehousing their mistakes... a question that certainly put the doctor's back up and rendered any further attempts at communication between them moot. 

Blair had later apologized; something MacDonald accepted quite frostily before calling in a neurologist, which was apparently as close as the heart doctor could get to a reciprocal apology. Still, neither MacDonald nor Blair had spoken more than ten words to each other since. 

"I want to know." 

"Just a personality clash, Jim. Don't worry about it." 

Jim recognized that stubborn look on Blair's face. He wasn't going to get anywhere by simply asking ... but he wasn't a detective for nothing, either. 

He could work on it. He had time, thanks to the man in front of him. 

"Okay, Chief." He shrugged lightly. "Dad suggested you and I stay with him at the house while I'm on medical leave. Let the press blow over." 

Blair chewed on his lip, feeling manipulated. He was unable to think of a logical reason against William Ellison's proposition, even though what he _really_ wanted was to just go _home_ , to the loft - where he could barricade the door, and hibernate under the covers for about a hundred years. With Jim. Preferably naked. 

Blair didn't see that happening any time soon, not in William Ellison's house. Given Jim had been instructed against strenuous activity, Blair supposed it was just as well they wouldn't be alone ... but he longed to touch and hold his sentinel, and sleep with Jim like he had earlier; only with nothing between them but skin. 

"Yeah, sure, sounds like a good idea," he finally conceded, refusing to make any demands. Whatever Jim wanted. 

"Deal," Jim said quickly, having anticipated a lot more 'discussion' before getting Blair to agree. 

Blair flashed a grin that failed to reach his eyes, but before Jim could call him on it, a quiet knock at the hospital room door heralded another interruption. 

Doctor Jorgensen entered, round face wreathed in smiles on spotting Jim out of bed. "Ah, now, this is what I like to see! Good morning, gentlemen!" He beamed and proceeded to examine Jim once again, finishing with a satisfied nod as he concluded a number of motor skills tests as he watched Jim stand and walk around the room, returning to stand at Blair's side. "Excellent, Detective." 

Jorgensen looked over at Blair. "Neurologically, he looks fine." 

Jim watched Blair's eyes close briefly, accompanied by a sigh that no one else would have heard before he offered Jorgensen his hand. 

"Thank you, Doctor Jorgensen. You've been ... very kind," Blair said softly over a solemn handshake. 

"Eh, it is a pleasure to give good news, and a greater pleasure to see faith rewarded. You see, young man, the age of miracles is not yet past," the doctor replied with equal gravitas. The two of them stared at each other, so near in height that their eyes were on a level, and Jim had that feeling once again that there was a lot he hadn't been told. 

Jim's door swung open as William Ellison stuck his head in the room, interrupting the odd little moment. 

"Hi, Jim, Blair. Doctor Jorgensen, how is my son this morning?" 

"Ready to go home, I suspect," Jorgensen said, exchanging a handshake with the elder Ellison before turning towards Jim. 

"As I told you before, you are a fortunate man, Detective. It is my hope to never see you again, you understand? Nor you, Blair, although I think we would have many fine conversations, eh?" 

"We already have, sir," Blair said. 

"Thank you," Jim said, understanding instantly that this man had supported and comforted his partner. Doctor Jorgensen shook his hand then, holding it for a moment and patting the back gently. His cool, dry fingers felt crepe-tissue soft against Jim's skin. 

"I have retired three times," Doctor Jorgensen remarked. "Each time, this is what I miss, so I come back... just to see the amazing range and variation in the human form, the beauty of our Creator's design, and the magic in answered prayers. Surely, the thanks are mine." 

Releasing Jim's hand, he wished them all a good day, ambling out with a broad grin. 

"We owe Simon," Blair explained when Jim looked at him curiously. "He's the one who recommended Doctor Jorgensen. He took care of Simon's mother when she had that stroke last year and Simon said we could trust him. He's been- really nice." 

A knock sounded on his door, and Jim guessed from the way his father and Blair both went stiff, with set faces, that the young woman who entered next was the infamous resident doctor from the ER. 

Tall, busty, blonde, and blue-eyed, her unfortunate resemblance to Alex Barnes struck Jim, and he barely registered the way his father and Blair were now flanking him and just a half-step ahead. 

"Yeah, man, I know," Blair murmured very softly as the doctor cleared her throat and drew herself up, her pale gaze on Jim. 

"Mister Ellison, I'm Doctor Julia Petrie. I treated you in the emergency room." 

"Is that what you call what you did?" William Ellison asked in as cold a tone as any Jim had ever heard. He looked sideways at his dad in surprise, while the woman flushed slightly, her eyes sliding off Jim with visible reluctance. 

Blair sighed, such a tired exasperated sound Jim could hardly believe it came from his normally energetic friend. 

"What do you want?" Jim asked before Blair could. 

"I came- I came to apologize for what happened," she said, chin lifting as her eyes fixed again on Jim's. "And to say I'm glad you're all right." 

Blair turned to stare out the window. Jim reached out and grabbed his hand, drawing him back when he would have stepped away. 

"From my understanding, you owe that apology to my partner," he noted, his own voice hard. "Whatever you think you know, you should have listened to the man with my medical power of attorney. He knows me better than anyone else ever will." 

Blair blinked, startled on a number of levels by Jim's words. 

Jim noticed that reaction and frowned; then it occurred to him that Blair didn't realize he knew what had happened in the ER. 

"Mister Ellison-" 

"That's Detective Ellison, _Miss_ ," William snapped, clearly having reached the limits of his own tolerance. 

"Dad, it's all right. _I'm_ all right," Jim said softly. "Doctor Petrie, we have nothing further to say to you." 

"Look, I _am_ sorry, but his reputation-" 

"Which reputation would that be, Miss Thang?" Daryl Banks interrupted from the door. He walked in with a thunderous frown, Simon behind him, carrying a sack filled with Jim's 'going home' clothes. 

"Daryl-" 

"Come on, Dad, I'd really like to know what reputation she's referring to. Blair's reputation as one of the best detectives in Cascade? His reputation as a doctor of anthropology? Because he _is_ a doctor himself, lady, and way better in his field than you'll ever be in yours." 

"Daryl, man, let it go," Blair said calmly enough, but the hand under Jim's was fisted tight. 

"I think that's your cue to leave," Simon announced as Daryl subsided, coming around to Blair's side and glaring at the doctor. 

"I can't imagine your attorney would be too pleased by your presence here," William added smoothly. "Why don't you run along." 

The 'little girl' wasn't verbally tacked on to the end of that condescending command, but it might as well have been; it was that audible. Petrie went white, then red, painted mouth gaping unattractively for a moment before she wheeled around and marched out. 

Jim decided he'd keep to himself the fact that Petrie's scent betrayed she was attracted to him. That was something none of his snarling family - particularly Blair - needed to know. 

Hard pressed to hide a grin, he looked around at his group of guardians, amusing himself by drawing mental comparisons to packs and prides ... waiting as they all gradually backed down from their defensive stances. Simon had already set the sack aside, as if he'd felt the need to keep both hands free. 

Jim still thought they were overreacting, but he couldn't deny it felt ... really nice ... to be so well-protected. Cherished. 

He wished the circumstances hadn't been so difficult for his family and friends, however. 

"Well. That was fun," Daryl said, putting his hand on Blair's shoulder. "Whoa. Blair, man, you are _tense_." 

"And Dad, you could stand to calm down a little bit, too," Jim added when Blair's scent turned embarrassed. 

His father huffed out an unamused laugh and looked at him fondly. 

"I've never wanted to hit a woman as much as I want to- what's the current term, Daryl? Bitch-slap that one," William Ellison admitted, rubbing his face as he grimaced. 

Jim made a conscious effort to close his mouth while Blair didn't bother to hide a snort of laughter. 

"Damn straight, Mister Ellison," Daryl replied to Simon's "ahem". "Well, it's true. We know who saved Jim's life and it wasn't the so-called doctor who just walked out of this room." 

Daryl squeezed Blair's shoulder and shook him gently. 

"Shake it off, dawg," the younger Banks said to his friend, his tone affectionate. 

"Working on it," Blair said with a lopsided grin. 

"Cool. Hey, Jim, it's good to see you awake." 

"Daryl's been here almost every day to visit," Blair added quietly as Jim reached out and gave the young man a brief hug. 

"Thanks, Daryl." 

"No prob. You getting paroled?" Daryl asked as Jim exchanged belated greetings with Simon as well. 

"Pardoned, more like," Simon said, his eyes inspecting Blair closely. "Sandburg, you got some sleep. Good. So, are you being discharged, Jim?" 

"Yeah. We're going to Dad's house for a while until the media crap dies down," Jim said, putting his hand on Blair's other shoulder. 

Simon looked at Jim sideways and shook his head. 

"I don't think so." 

"Simon?" Blair questioned. 

"Until we determine who, if anybody, Risinger was working for, you need to go to a safehouse, Detectives, and you know it. Period, end of story." 

"Protective custody?" Blair threw up his hands and stomped around the room. "Great. Fine. Whatever." 

"Chief?" 

"I'll be back in a minute," Blair said, his throat tightening, unhappy at the thought of not being alone with Jim at all - something Jim apparently had no problem with, as proven by his having agreed to go to his father's house. Blair supposed a safehouse with half-a-dozen cops around wouldn't be much worse. 

Heading for the door, it occurred to Blair that Jim's acceptance of William's invitation could be his confirmation that Jim wasn't anxious for a physical relationship with him. 

He wasn't really surprised, Blair decided. He already knew he wasn't exactly Jim's usual 'type' - _she'd_ walked out of Jim's room earlier: beautiful, stacked, and trying to kill him. Julia Petrie was just Jim's style. 

He was pond scum for wanting to be closer to Jim right now ... but it wasn't sex - not that he didn't _want_ sex. Eventually. Soon. 

This felt more basic. He longed simply to _touch_ Jim, needing that so much his skin ached. 

This need, in fact, was becoming so strong that Blair suspected it was primal instinct at work, the kind of thing he wouldn't be able to ignore indefinitely. A voice in the back of his mind demanded he reconnect with Jim and connect completely ... urging him to inspect his sentinel's body from head to toe and claim it, having won Jim's life from the jaws of death. 

But that wasn't going to happen any time soon, if ever, and it was the 'if ever' that scared Blair's gut into dull, hopeless pangs. 

He wasn't sure Jim wanted him the way he wanted Jim. It was knowledge that hurt his heart and made his head second-guess Jim's earlier words. 

"Chief, wait." 

"Just gonna- I'm gonna go get some fresh coffee. I'll be right back, Jim." Knowing Simon would watch Jim, Blair headed out of the room, ignoring Jim's protest. 

He had to get a grip, and now. 

* * *

"Jim, give him a few minutes. He's been under a lot of strain," Simon counseled evenly. 

Listening to Blair's heart pound and the nearly soundless hitches in his breath, Jim had the uncomfortable feeling that he'd missed something big. 

He wondered what it was. 

"I don't think-" he began doubtfully. 

"I'll go check on him," William interrupted quietly and slipped out behind Blair, Daryl on his heels. 

* * *

"Let's go get him some coffee, then give me a moment with him, Daryl, please?" 

"Sure, Mister Ellison." 

* * *

"Blair? Everything all right, son?" 

William watched Blair's expression change, dark unhappiness replaced by a politely empty, meaningless grin. 

"Yeah, sure! That for me?" Blair motioned to the extra cup William was holding. William narrowed his eyes and handed it over slowly, forcing Blair to meet his gaze. 

"You don't have to do that, you know," he said, wondering if Blair would pretend to misunderstand him. For an instant, Blair looked like he was going to bluff it out, then that less than authentic smile faded into a resigned sigh, his gaze openly unhappy for one honest moment. 

"Yeah, I know. Thanks." Blair took a sip as he turned away to stare out the window at the end of the corridor. "How many cups of coffee have you brought me this week?" 

"I lost count somewhere around fifty," William admitted as he moved to stand at Blair's side. "Some things improve with exposure. Can't say this is one of them." He toasted Blair with his half-empty styrofoam cup. 

"Eh, I think my taste buds gave up days ago. I can't taste it any more." Blair peered into his cup and shrugged before swallowing the rest of the sorry brew. "I mean that. Thanks, William. You know. For everything." 

"You're welcome." William gripped the back of Blair's neck and squeezed lightly, feeling the rigid tension there. "Any time. I hope you know that. And thank you, too, Blair." 

"For what?" Blair said, surprised into a real smile. 

Certain his son had probably awakened just to see that expression, William chuckled and pulled Blair into a hug that startled them both. 

"Oh, you know. For everything," he mimicked, pleased when Blair laughed. 

* * *

"Your turn, son." 

"Thanks, Mister Ellison." 

* * *

"Yo, Blair, you okay, man?" 

"Not so much ... just tired, you know?" 

"Been rough," Daryl said sympathetically, regarding his friend. He put a sympathetic arm over Blair's shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "It's gonna get better now." 

"Yeah. Hope you're right, D-man." 

* * *

Overhearing Blair and wondering why he so obviously doubted it, Jim looked up at Simon beseechingly. "No safe house, Simon. Blair and I..." 

_Jesus Christ, don't make me say we need to be alone._

"It's not negotiable, Jim," Simon said darkly, visibly hating the necessity of his words. "God knows Sandburg's waited long enough for you to see what was right in front of your face. Hell, we've all been waiting right along with the poor kid," he added under his breath, astonishing Jim to no small degree. 

This lasted about a breath before his chest started aching with sympathetic pain for Blair. 

"How long?" 

He had to know and figured Blair would never tell him. 

"For Sandburg? From day one, apparently. Why else come back after Kincaid took over the station?" Simon shook his head, expression oddly proud but pained at the same time, eyes boring into Jim's. "Sandburg's steadfast," he said, investing the old-fashioned word with all his admiration and respect, as well as a certain wonder. "You're a lucky man." 

"Yeah, Simon, I get that," Jim said, quirking a grin at his friend. "I kinda wanted to get lucky," he added, trying to lighten the mood a bit before Simon Banks fooled around and made them both cry. 

"Don't take me there," Simon said repressively, lips twitching against a smile. "I can't know this officially, Detective. Safehouse." 

"Perhaps a compromise, gentlemen?" his dad said, pushing open the door. "Jim and Blair were going to come home with me. They still could, couldn't they? I had planned on them taking the upstairs guest suite anyway - it has an attached lounge with a big-screen TV and a long sofa. Since Jim's supposed to take it easy, no one will question him lying about in there while your men watch from downstairs." 

"That's doable, isn't it, Simon? Sally will keep Blair out of the kitchen. He needs to take it easy, too," Jim persisted, knowing if they went to a regular safehouse, Blair would insist on preparing too many of their meals. It was a large part of the reason why he'd wanted to go to his dad's in the first place, so Sally could mother him _and_ Blair, and Blair could rest. 

It was a good plan, Jim thought. 

* * *

Blair, overhearing, blinked and began to reconsider a few things. 

* * *

"This is really nice, Dad," Jim said sincerely as his father let them precede him into what William Ellison had called the guest suite. "When did you have this remodeled?" 

His own room had been down the hall. This had been the master suite his parents had shared at one time, but since he'd lived in that house, walls had been knocked down and the second story's 'footprint' had changed. Including a media room - of all things - that his dad had added, there was a new, and huge, en-suite bath and an outdoor deck. The furnishings looked comfortable without being fussy, clean lines, colors, and simple curves that appealed to Jim's eyes. 

"I had it done a couple of years ago," William admitted, looking around him with satisfaction, glad Jim liked it. 

When he died, Jim would get this house; something William had kept in mind when he'd worked out the remodel with his designer and architect. He'd had the walls, windows, doors, and the floor built to muffle sound, making sure the deck off the bedroom, accessed by French doors, faced eastward to catch the rising sun ... always bearing in mind what he'd learned from Blair about Jim's needs as a sentinel. 

"Wow," Blair said, sounding impressed, in better spirits - Jim had held his hand during the entire drive from the hospital, William noticed, and was only surprised by not being surprised. He'd grown so accustomed to seeing Jim's hand in Blair's that it seemed entirely natural to see them. 

It shamed him now to think of how touch-starved his sentinel child must have been, stuck with him as a parent. He'd never learned to express affection physically - or easily. His own parents' drunken hands had been something to be feared, either too friendly or landing blows. 

So he'd treated his sons as he'd once longed to be treated, kept his feelings to himself, kept his hands off, and left them alone ... in so many ways. 

William sighed with regret. He'd done so much wrong, all the while sure he was doing good enough. Better than they had. 

Then he'd gotten to know Blair Sandburg, who seeped through hairline cracks and birthed fault lines and shook up everything a person thought they knew. 

"Dad? You okay?" 

William turned around, bit his lip, and held out his arms, relieved when Jimmy stepped into his hug, moved to tears when his son's strong arms closed around him gently. 

"I'm ... really glad you're alive, Jimmy. I love you, son." 

"I love you, too, Dad. Thank you for this." 

William stepped back and held out his hand to Blair, who tilted his head forward, a grave little bow before formally accepting the offered embrace as the privilege it was, somehow understanding. 

The three of them squeezed each other as carefully as if they were all damaged. William thought maybe they were, but felt okay despite that when he moved away, leaving Jimmy and Blair standing arm in arm. 

"You're welcome. There's a whirlpool tub, too," he added after a moment, voice rather too innocent for the wink he let Blair see him give Jimmy. "I'm told it's very ... therapeutic." 

"Dad," Jimmy groaned, putting his free hand over his face while Blair started snickering at him appreciatively. 

Loud tread in the hall announced Simon's presence. He stuck his head in, gave an impressed grunt as he walked in looking at Jim. 

"Nice. Taggart and Connor are downstairs until midnight, then Lowrance and Hatfield until eight. I'll be back then. Brown and Rafe say Trent in Arson has a lead on who paid Risinger to torch the building and they're going with him to pick up a warrant and make the arrest. I'll keep you posted." 

"Thanks, Simon," Blair bestirred himself enough to say, realizing Simon - and William - were about to leave him alone with Jim. 

He wasn't ready. 

A little clumsily, Simon came in and patted Blair on the shoulder. 

"Get some rest, Sandburg. You look like hell." 

"Gee, thanks, man." He didn't doubt it, but damn. Did it have to be said? 

"No problem." Turning to Jim, Simon favored him with a broad grin. "You don't know how happy I am to say you look like hell, too, Jim." 

"I appreciate that, Simon," Jim remarked, grinning back, the expression stealing Blair's breath. "Thanks for looking after this guy." He turned his smile on Blair then. 

Blair had sat at Jim's bedside for long dark hours and despaired of ever seeing that smile again. 

Eyes suddenly stinging and chest heaving with sobs he didn't dare let out, reaction was setting in hard. Blair knew he had to get away before he completely humiliated himself. 

"Excuse me," he managed tightly as he wheeled around and headed for the bathroom, decisively closing the door behind him. 

Before falling to his knees and fighting the mother of all anxiety attacks. 

* * *

"We're going!" William announced, holding up his hand when Jim started to speak, forestalling what he knew would be a polite 'get out'. "Go take care of him." Simon was staring after Blair and William took his arm politely. 

"Help an old man down the stairs, sonny." 

"Fine, fine," Simon griped but let William lead him away, looking over his shoulder at the bathroom door. "Jim, don't give the kid that 'suck it up' lecture," he warned and William winced at hearing his own words quoted back at him secondhand. 

"You'd better treat him like gold," he ordered roughly, wondering if Jim could ever know how deeply he regretted the way he'd raised his sons. 

Jim's eyes got shiny as he nodded. William thought maybe he did, a little. Perhaps Jim smelled how his father felt, because he smiled, unashamed of letting William see how touched he was. William smiled back, feeling like he'd been reprieved. Even forgiven. A little. 

"I will, Dad. Thank you. 'Bye, Simon, thank you, too, see you after we get some sleep." 

"I bet that's not all you get," Simon muttered. William snickered. 

Jim didn't wait for them to leave before heading for the bathroom, and William was glad to see his son had a fine grasp of priorities and a plan behind those bright eyes. 

He wanted Jimmy's happiness with Blair more than he'd wanted his own. He'd gone through life thinking it was enough to survive while making sure, or so he'd believed at the time, that his boys would never be as weak - as helpless - as he'd been. 

Never once had _he_ aspired to happy. In fact, William observed, he'd known only a few moments of pure happiness, most of those revolving around his children. Jimmy and Stephen's births. Jim's eventual resurrection when he was found alive in Peru and his waking two days ago from his coma. Stephen's evasion of an attempt on his life, of which William hadn't even learned until Pat Reynolds went to trial. 

_And Blair. If anybody deserves a happy ending..._

William closed the door behind him. Neither he nor Simon spoke as they made their way to the kitchen, where a _tsk_ -ing Sally was insisted on feeding everybody coffee and sandwiches. Stephen had arrived at some point, eyes anxious like everyone else's when he and Simon took seats at the table with simultaneous sighs. 

"Is Jim okay?" Stephen asked worriedly, looking from him to Simon. "Is Blair?" 

"I have ... faith ... they will be," he offered hesitantly, glancing at his silent companion. "They need some time, that's all. And some rest." 

"Simon? You think they'll be all right now?" Joel Taggart asked, deep gaze on his friend and captain, who rubbed his chin then nodded, meeting Joel's worried eyes. 

"They'll be fine ... after Sandburg has his meltdown and gets it over with," Simon said, his lips quirking with wry amusement. 

"I guess he's entitled, Simon. I thought he was gonna drop dead on me at the station yesterday when I told him you'd called. He thought Jim had- that Jim was- I never want to see that look on his face again." Joel's voice went husky, tearing at their hearts. 

"Enough! Jimmy is fine, Blair is fine, it's time to eat now!" Sally scolded kindly, as she served them all thick sandwiches and homemade soup. Discovering he was ravenous, William started in. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually tasted food. 

"Sally, thank you," he said between bites, waving at Stephen, Simon, and Joel to dig in with him. "This is wonderful. Really hits the spot." 

_And hopefully Jim will do the same with Blair,_ he thought irreverently, covering his snicker with another mouthful of Sally's chicken soup. 

* * *

Already aware, thanks to his hearing, that Blair had crawled over to the toilet and was retching miserably, Jim let himself into the bathroom. Ignoring the sour scent of stomach contents he went immediately to Blair, kneeling slightly behind him to help support his clammy forehead. 

Blair tried to wave him off but Jim politely placed Blair's hand back on the porcelain commode, waiting patiently for him to finish another round of dry heaves. 

Spasms finally easing, Blair sat back on his heels and grabbed some toilet paper, wiping his mouth with a grimace when he dropped it in the bowl and flushed, lowering the lid. 

"You shouldn't- you don't need to be in here-" 

"Oh, yes, I do," Jim promised before Blair could go any further, getting up for a damp face cloth and a cup of water. He was back on his knees beside Blair before Blair could say another word, carefully wiping away tears, sweat, and fears. "I need to be everything you need, Blair," he added seriously, meaning it; brushing his thumb over Blair's stubbly cheek before handing him the water. "Here. Rinse." 

Blair blinked, lips trying to curve into a smile despite his watering eyes. He took the cup from Jim then rinsed and spit a couple of times, plainly trying to get his emotions under control. Jim could scent the effort he was making to push everything down and bury it. 

That was the last thing Jim wanted. Retrieving the cup, he set it aside and pulled Blair into his arms. 

"I love you, Chief." 

"I've had dreams like this," Blair said after a moment. His voice was muffled against Jim's neck but Jim heard every uneven word. "'Course, we weren't on the bathroom floor next to the can in any of those," and there went Blair trying to play it all off, trying to suck it up because he couldn't stand to show Jim that much of himself any more. Jim had done this and he hated it. He hated it. 

"Blair, please," he begged, not even sure what he was asking, grateful when Blair's arms came around him, holding him while he shook in fearful mortality that was only exacerbated by the prosaic surroundings. "So close. I was so close to never knowing you as my lover. God, it scares me to death." 

Blair shivered hard, the first sob breaking out of his chest with Jim's name. 

"You almost _died_ , Jim. Man, I thought- You- you're it for me! You're what I live for. Without you-" Blair was gripping him rather fiercely now, openly weeping into his neck and Jim didn't care that he was crying, too. He didn't bother to try to stop, the frightened child within him clinging to the only solid object he'd ever found, unashamedly letting his hot tears flow. 

Apparently feeling them, Blair pulled back to stare, his drenched blue eyes filled with wonder as they met Jim's own. Blair reached up and touched his face with shaking fingers, bringing the taste of Jim's tears to his mouth. 

Jim heard the sound of his breath punched out of him - didn't feel it - as his blood supply abruptly headed due south and his instincts started clamoring. 

"Oh," he managed stupidly, licking suddenly dry lips and trying to remember how to breathe, especially when Blair _looked_ at him, that same shockingly visceral hunger he felt in Blair's darkening eyes, 

"Oh," Blair mocked gently, buying himself time to blink past surprise Jim could smell. "You _do_ want me." _That's a relief,_ his scent said next and Jim couldn't bear that Blair had doubted it. 

He stood, bringing Blair with him, pulling him out of the bathroom then pushing him towards the huge bed ... not that Blair resisted, dragging Jim down as he sprawled backwards across the plush duvet. Jim went willingly, covering Blair's strong body, sliding his arms under Blair's upper back and trusting Blair to take his weight. He pressed Blair into the mattress and rubbed them together, his rigid erection aching where it shoved against Blair's. 

"Your chest..." Blair protested weakly, arching into him like he couldn't help himself. Jim thought _what chest?_ and found himself growling, pushing his face into Blair's neck, licking the hot tender skin and fighting the urge to set his teeth in it. 

"Ah, god, Jim ... clothes ... can't ... gonna ..." 

Wild now from hearing Blair's groaned words - Blair was close, shaking apart beneath him, from no more than this - Jim reached into Blair's hair and pulled his head back, baring his throat. 

"AH GOD!" Blair gasped again, hands tight on Jim's ass and pulling him even closer, the rough pressure becoming too much pleasure for either man to take. Blair made a sound that Jim knew he'd dedicate himself to hearing again and again, falling apart in his arms, coming against Jim's cock in rhythmic spasms that Jim could easily feel despite the layers of clothing separating their skins. The scent hit his nose then, going straight to his balls, Blair's strangled "Jim!" putting him over the edge. 

Keeping his eyes closed until he was sure they were uncrossed, Blair tightened his arms around Jim's head and shoulders, sheltering Jim while he shuddered through his climax, chanting "yes yes yes" under his breath as Jim gave it up to him. 

Blair, still woozy from his own ear-ringing orgasm, decided there wasn't much doubt that yes, Jim did want him - so much so that Jim couldn't wait for them to get their clothes off - so he guessed he could strike that item off his worry list. Gasping through the aftershocks, Jim sank into him with an exhausted-sounding grunt and Blair smiled, loving his weight. 

"Naked sex may kill us. You probably shouldn't be-" 

"Hey, I'm lying down," Jim pointed out reasonably, his hands cradling Blair's head. He lifted himself back up onto his elbows and moved so he was looking at Blair straight on, helping himself to another lazy kiss since he was there. Blair opened to him, hot and slick and wet and perfect to taste, familiar and not despite the kisses they'd already shared. 

He pulled away with a protesting moan, wanting to pant like a dog when Blair's slumberous eyes opened to watch him, licking his flavor from red, puffy lips. 

"God. I love you, Blair Sandburg. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health ... and after death." 

"Oh," Blair said again, and smiled helplessly, his expression so bright that Jim wondered if his eyes could handle it, joy beaming out in nearly visible waves. "I love you, Jim Ellison. For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health and after death. We've already done most of that stuff anyway, and here we are. You're my soulmate, Jim. For the rest of this life and all the ones after." 

Jim suspected later that they spent far too long then simply grinning at each other, stunned loopy. 

"You sure you're okay?" Blair asked, fingers brushing Jim's chest. "Not too sore?" 

"You're joking, right? Endorphins, babe," Jim said, winking at him before rolling to his back, taking Blair with him. Despite his words, Blair was careful not to put much weight on him, something that made Jim smile. "How about a shower and a nap?" 

As a plan, that worked for Blair, who finally got the opportunity to inspect his sentinel from elegant toes to precious head. 

Wet and naked was a bonus. 

* * *

Jim simply awakened, out of the void in the blink of an eye. Fresh from an extended 'nap' and floating on a vast sea of contentment, he lay prone on the bed, with Blair still half on top of him and sound asleep, one leg threaded between his and one arm flung protectively over his back. 

Covering him like a warm blanket. That snored. 

Jim grinned, adoring the little snuffling noises, aware he had it bad. 

And so, apparently, did Blair. If his guide had left any part of his body untouched, Jim - with his superior sense memory - couldn't say where that might have been. Blair had aimed the full bore focus of his complete attention on Jim. By the time they'd migrated from shower to bed, Jim had been incoherent with need, begging wordlessly for more of Blair's gentle hands and mouth. 

Taking him over with precise and delicate care, mindful of his physical condition, Blair roused Jim's senses and made them _storm_. Riding lightning and roaring with thunder, he'd had come so hard he'd zoned on the exquisite pleasure, snared endlessly in that moment of white light and explosions ... Blair had started coming inside him, hard pulses that tore a shocking second climax out of him, snapping him out of his zone and right back into ecstasy. 

Then, just like at the fountain, Jim had felt Blair right down through their shared soul, another precious instant of perfect communion. He vowed to himself that he would never again let what bound them together go unacknowledged or unappreciated, understanding better now how much he must have hurt Blair when he'd turned away from what had happened between them with the spirit merge. 

Just thinking about it was making Jim's eyes sting and his nose prickle. 

"Hmm. Jim," Blair said, still sound asleep. 

Utterly humbled by how much Blair Sandburg loved him, Jim grinned into his pillow, allowed a few - reluctant, burning, grateful - tears ... and gave silent thanks to all the deities he'd learned about from Blair over the years plus the ones he already knew. 

But especially, to the God of second chances. 

* * *

End 

Crossing Ninevah by Polly Bywater: pollyabywater@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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